


Breathless

by AllyinthekeyofX



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Challenge fic, Episode: s07e22 Requiem, F/M, Shades of FTF, it's a bit angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyinthekeyofX/pseuds/AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: Written in response to a challenge on a very excellent fic group I am a member of on facebook.  We were given a still from FTF and had to write something original based on that one still.  I won't say what it was or it will spoil it. So yeah, erm summary..... Mulder is about to leave for Oregon without Scully.





	

The first time I was really conscious of her breathing, the first time I was terrified that she would suddenly cease is as sharp in my memory today as it was back then. So many years ago as I sat beside her as she lay pale and unmoving atop that hospital bed; a bed that no one, not even I, had expected her ever to leave. Because while her body had been returned to us more or less unscathed, her spirit had not and as each frightening day passed she had retreated further and further away from us and, in the absence of anything solid to put my back up against I think maybe I had retreated right along with her. Unable to reach out in any substantive way I had simply concentrated my attention on bringing to justice the faceless men who had put her there; so that when she died, when she left me, I could tell myself that I had done everything I could possibly have done; that I hadn’t failed her.

Of course I came to realise that in fact, I was failing her more than I ever have done before or since because whilst I have no real religious convictions, my faith even back then was in Scully; in her quiet strength in a belief that somehow, as long as we searched for it together, that the truth I so desperately sought was attainable somehow. And all through that long night as I covered her pale hand with my own, I whispered that same confirmation over and over. To keep her with me; to bring her back; to keep fighting in a way I think she had always fought.

And I didn’t take my eyes off her – afraid to miss even a single gentle rise and fall of her chest as though by sheer will alone I could keep her breathing – until the morning came and I was banished from the room to allow the nurses to attend to her. Just for an hour or two they said; enough time for me to go home and grab a shower, a change of clothes, something to eat maybe. Of course I did none of those things because I already knew what was waiting for me when I got home. Because I had made my choice and my choice had been to be with Scully.

I had cried that day as I sank to my knees on the threshold of my ruined apartment; hot scalding shameful tears that caught in my throat and demanded a final release. Tears I had kept locked inside me for months, maybe even years as I cried for everything that had been taken from me, even then still unable to bring myself to exclude Scully from the grim mental tally that reverberated again and again as my subconscious finally came to the fore after being suppressed for so long. Because deep down, I hadn’t believed she would live; that anything I could ever do would bring her back to me.

It was just one of many times she has surprised me. Because as petite as she is, as seemingly fragile as she may first appear, I have learned through bitter experience that Scully burns with a fire that is blinding in its intensity and which, despite all the odds, has never been fully extinguished. It’s one of the reasons I stopped noticing her height – or lack thereof – years ago; because if a person’s stature can be measured, not in inches but in a sheer single minded determination to prevail then Dana Scully would surely walk amongst giants.

In the past six years I have crossed continents to find her, have held her in my arms when she was barely alive; I have wept at her bedside in the dead of night when all has seemed hopeless; I have felt her blood on my hands and her fear on my soul; I have felt her desperate tears mingle with mine before I have somehow managed to kiss them away, drawing strength from her even when my body was tired and my mind was weak. I have watched her laugh for no other reason than a sudden childlike joy that we are alive and more recently I have felt her body sing alongside my own as we lay entwined in a lovers embrace; her pale skin glowing in the muted tones of evening light as she gently and thoroughly shrouds me in a sureness that despite everything, I am still worthy enough for someone to love me.

And through all those years I have watched her breathe.

But now, as she stands before me, her eyes luminous with unshed tears that threaten at any moment to fall, I watch her chest hitching as she fights to hold on to her composure.

Because I am leaving her behind; because despite her protestation and spoken entreaties that she is fine I finally realised a truth that I have been denying for so long – that the cost to her is just too great and the time has come for her to stop and whether she will admit it to herself or not I think deep down she knows it too.

We spent last night holding on to each other; barely speaking as we lay awake in the darkness, entrusting in our bodies to communicate when the words just wouldn’t come and afterwards as the dawn began to break and I felt her begin to tremble in my arms, knowing that our time together was short, I told her for the first time that I loved her. It felt ominously as though I were saying goodbye.

We agreed that she wouldn’t drive me to the airport and I am expecting Skinner to arrive any minute; a part of me wishing he never would – that I am able to take her with me instead just as she has been at my side for so many years. She has grounded me, saved me, given me the strength to carry on when everything around us has gone to hell; she is my touchstone, my constant and my perfect other and on every level possible I am thankful that she was sent to me when she was. And leaving her right now is tearing me apart piece by painful piece because what I really want to do is to gather her against me, wrap my arms around her and never let her go. 

But instead I pick up the overnight bag I had packed last night and with my free hand I gently lay my palm against her face, feeling the tension in her jaw ease slightly as I caress the soft velvet of her cheek with my thumb, rubbing small circles to comfort her just as I have done a thousand times before and just briefly, without lifting her eyes, she rests her own hand against mine; capturing my fingers for a moment before turning away from me as she gives me unspoken permission to leave before she changes her mind or perhaps before I can change mine.

I allow myself one last lingering look at her, willing her to turn around even as I pray she doesn’t; because I have never felt as empty as I do now and I am just looking for a reason to stay; to let Skinner travel to Oregon to uncover a truth I no longer really care about. But she doesn’t turn around; her body is still, arms crossed over her chest in a protective posture as she holds herself together. And so I leave. Without looking back I exit the apartment, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other; to keep walking; to keep breathing.

Until

“Mulder wait.”

And suddenly she is right there, pulling at my arm and turning me to face her as I automatically drop my bag, crushing her against my chest as she begins to cry silently against me. I don’t know how long we stand there; conscious only of her, of her body against mine as I feel her chest hitching with the intensity of her distress, knowing that she needs this release; a painful release that will ultimately lend her the strength she thinks she has lost somehow, rewarded when finally she pushes herself away from me and locks those incredible eyes with mine before placing one small hand at the nape of my neck, drawing me forwards and down so that, by standing on her tiptoes she is able to rest her forehead against mine.

“It’s okay” I murmur although I don’t really believe it.

Stepping back as I cup her face fully in my palms studying her, needing to look at her, to submerge myself in the essence of her; to feel her protection as she has protected me so often in the past.

She smiles then, not a full on Scully smile, but a barely-there upturn of the corners of her mouth so full of love and of respect and of her unshakable belief in me that I want to break down right there and then. Instead I slowly lower my mouth to hers, our eyes never breaking contact even for a second and I think it’s one of the most powerful, life affirming moments I have ever experienced and right at the second our lips are about to touch, Scully gently lays a hand on my chest and steps back.

For a second I am confused; hurt even.

Until I notice that she is smiling sadly, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as she once again covers my hands with her own.

“No Mulder” she whispers “No goodbyes remember? Just promise me.....promise me you will come back to me safe.”

And I pull her against me again, just holding her as I feel her breathe.

“I promise”.

 

End


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